


arklay holiday

by touslesjours



Series: flowers from lisieux, jewels from victoria [1]
Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Attempt at Humor, Christmas Fluff, Cleon Discord Secret Santa 2020, F/M, Fluff, Made up lore, Modern Royalty, Sarcasm, Tourism, but still sweet, chris and sheva are done with claire's antics, chris has an aneurysm every minute, claire has a potty mouth, claire is a firecracker, leon is a mix of re2 & re4 leon, lots of references, no beta we die like men, sherry is pure and wholesome, some angst...?, ton of references, will edit at some point
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-03
Updated: 2021-01-03
Packaged: 2021-03-13 11:13:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28527531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/touslesjours/pseuds/touslesjours
Summary: An overseas political function hardly seems like the ideal way to spend the Christmas holidays. But Claire has ideas. Ideas that involve daring escapades, terrible excuses, a horrified Chris, and maybe - just maybe - a cute blonde who's more than just a friendly local.A Roman Holiday-esque modern royalty! au, but with a twist.
Relationships: Leon S. Kennedy/Claire Redfield
Series: flowers from lisieux, jewels from victoria [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2089734
Comments: 5
Kudos: 16
Collections: [cleon protection squad] secret santa event 2020





	arklay holiday

**Author's Note:**

  * For [IvvyQueen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/IvvyQueen/gifts).



> for the cleon discord secret santa event in 2020, made for IvvyQueen! 
> 
> due to a lack of time the fic ended up becoming only 65% of what i originally intended it to be (which is why the fic ends a bit abruptly, i swear i had lore made up for each of the countries that i wasn't able to implement in this?????? sadface) 
> 
> i will definitely edit/rework/expand on it in the future, but i just wanted to share/post my >>first written contribution to the cleon fandom<< regardless!

Christmas, Claire believes - as _everyone_ does - should be a cozy, relaxed affair, spent with loved ones at home. Being the princess of Victoria just means her Christmas holidays drag on just a little more than others. And it's mostly because she's bombarded with various administrative events where her presence is more for show than of any actual importance (something she likes to call pre-Christmas hell.) She's fairly sure she doesn't really need to be around just to smile politely and nod during the pre-Christmas week political dinners with Victoria's ministers and its Chamber of Deputies. And she's _pretty damn_ sure she doesn't need to be around for the monarch's annual live Christmas broadcast. Especially when all she has to do is try not to fall asleep in front of the camera while her brother Chris drones on for an hour about _a better future for Victoria, where our hopes for national unity and progress will be fueled by the indomitable Victorian spirit_. That part sounds rather familiar, Claire thinks, as she fights the nasty grin that's threatening to break her composure. She's _definitely_ sure Chris has used this line in one of his past broadcasts. Then again, when sixty-percent of your job is making good speeches all the time, you start running out of inspiring messages to rouse the commonfolk.

It's not what they're doing right now that interests her, but what comes after: a real, actual Christmas celebration. Not with dignitaries. Nothing public. Just her, Chris, and her little cousin Sherry - and occasionally Barry and Moira, when Barry isn't occupied with his Royal Guard Captain affairs and Moira isn't away at Delucia to visit her mother. They'll have an entire week to themselves, where they'll exchange presents with one another, have a small but extravagant Christmas dinner, and if Chris isn't too busy with his duties, watch a classic holiday film and spend time playing chess. It's the part where they actually get to enjoy the spirit of Christmas as a real family like normal people do. It's why Claire stands up at the end of Chris's speech, a fake smile plastered on her face as she claps the way a courteous princess should, even though her feet are _really_ starting to itch.

Suffice it to say, when her bodyguard offhandedly asks her a suspicious question after the broadcast, Claire is greatly displeased.

"Sheva just asked me if I finished packing my evening gown," Claire deadpans as she bursts into the refined, ornate office meant for the Grand Duke of Victoria. "Explain. Now."

When she enters, Chris is sitting in his chair that's equally as elaborate, busy sifting through multiple documents placed arbitrarily on his mahogany desk. He barely looks up as he nods in greeting and responds, "We're flying to Lisieux tomorrow, at noon."

Claire's not sure if her brother is just pulling this out of his ass. "Why?"

He nods towards a fancy envelope on the right side of his desk. Claire picks it up, still somewhat skeptical. It reads: _The Lord Chamberlain is commanded by Her Royal Majesty of the Kingdom of Lisieux, to cordially invite Grand Duke Christoper III of Victoria (and the Victorian royal family) to her Christmas Ball at the Winter Palace in Arklay, from December 22nd to the 25th._

"It's just a Christmas ball," she says, dubious. "Can't you respectfully decline and state that you're too busy?"

Chris shakes his head. "Not _just_ a Christmas ball. The queen's invited all known monarchs and dignitaries around the world. It's the first official international event she's hosting, and she wants it to be something more, something extensive. An unofficial diplomatic occasion for everyone that attends."

Claire's heard of Lisieux's queen - their youngest yet, having ascended two years ago at the age of twenty-two. She faintly remembers the queen being the talk of the press back then: young, but not juvenile, with a charisma and speech that commanded respect. The picture of elegance and ambition. From what little Claire knows of her, it seems like her to open a grand ball with an equally grand purpose.

"I'm still not seeing why you need me to come with you," she says dully. "It's not like I'll be interfering in any diplomatic affairs."

"Everyone's bringing members of their royal court with them, Claire," he says, his eyes never leaving the reports in his hand. "Read it again, the invitation wasn't just for me. It was addressed to all members of the Victorian royal family. If you don't go, it'll look like Victoria doesn't care about international relations."

"That part's in _parentheses_! It's a motherfu-" Chris looks up sharply, his dangerous frown an eerie echo of the look their mother used to give her when she skipped her etiquette lessons. "-trucking _Christmas ball._ You honestly think they'll miss little old me in a ballroom with hundreds of nobles?"

"Whose sons, daughters, and relatives will be there as well," her brother points out. "It's not about anyone missing you, Claire, it's a matter of showing respect towards the Lisiene crown."

"Yeah, well, last time I checked nobody said it was supposed to be a family vacation- wait a damn fucking minute," Claire narrows her eyes, and before Chris can even comment on her language, she shoves a finger in his face. "You're afraid of all the nobles throwing their daughters at you. You just want me to be your- your _meat shield_ at the party!"

Chris scoffs as his gaze returns to his documents - a little too quickly, she thinks. "Don't be ridiculous."

"Oh, don't give me that shit, Christopher. You _know_ I'm right. It's bad enough that you're breaking Christmas tradition already. What's Sherry going to say?"

Her brother sighs and sets down the papers on his desk, rubbing his nose tiredly. The bags under his eyes seem darker than usual. "You know, I'm really starting to think it was a mistake letting you hang around with Barry's men after hours."

"Wonder whose idea it was for me to learn self-defense," Claire says in a very sarcastic tone. Chris looks at her, unamused. "You seriously expected your buff, combat-hardened veterans to yell out 'fiddlesticks' while they were getting kneed in the groin? Also: _stop dodging the question._ "

The expression on Chris's face is nothing short of irritation, but he yields. "Look, I'm sorry for breaking our little tradition, and not telling you beforehand," he says, his voice soft. "I knew you'd find some way to disagree and prevent it from happening - _stop scoffing, Claire_ \- if I did otherwise. I don't want to leave either, but the implications of this event are profound, and attending it _will_ grant Victoria political leverage in the international community. _Yes_ , I could just go by myself, but i don't want to leave you and Sherry alone in the palace. That's why I'm asking you to come with me, Sherry included. You won't have to do much except show up to the actual ball." He exhales deeply, drumming his fingers against his desk in a haphazard rhythm. "Help your brother out, will you?"

The idea of spending her holidays in a stuffy castle full of prim, snobby nobles and diplomats and being Chris's meat shield sounds exactly like the terrible time it should be. It's basically pre-Christmas hell, except it's actual Christmas hell this time. 'Tis the season to be jolly, says St. Nick. _'Tis the season to be absolutely fucking miserable_ , thinks Claire. Chris is looking at her pleadingly, and _God_ he's kind of a scheming bastard, but he's also her brother and she's starting to pity him.

"I've already told Sherry about it, actually," he says casually. "She was _very_ excited at the idea of a trip overseas for the holidays."

She stands corrected. Her brother is a huge fucking bastard.

"Fine," she hisses. "But you owe me."

Chris grins for what seems like the first time since they've started this conversation. "Of course."

* * *

The winters of Lisieux, Claire soon learns, are not nearly as kind as Victoria's. She barely withholds a shiver as she steps foot outside their private jet and onto the platform, the frigid air ghosting her skin and leaving her rosy-cheeked. She's wearing a thick winter coat on top of her tweed dress, but the warmth it provides isn't enough. On the other hand, Chris appears unperturbed, which is probably because he's wearing a bulky fur overcoat as opposed to her wool one. Sheva and Piers, her brother's bodyguard, don't appear much bothered by the cold either, but she guesses that's just their military training. _Damn it,_ she thinks. _I knew I should have worn the other coat._

Sherry, unfortunately, shares her problem. Despite wearing multiple layers, the little girl shudders violently every time the wind is particularly brutal, her teeth chattering as the ground staff guide them along the airfield. Claire huddles up next to her. "It's really cold, huh?" she whispers.

Her cousin laughs, though her voice quivers a bit as she does so. "It's freezing! But look." She points at the sky. "It's snowing!"

Sherry's right. Claire glances at the snowflakes descending from the sky. She can barely remember the last time she's seen snow - it might have been seven or eight years ago, when she visited the Marhawa Republic with her parents and Chris. They traveled to attend the winter wedding of the then-prime minister's daughter. It snowed the entire three days that they stayed there, enough for her to make a snowman with Chris outside the mansion they were lodging in. In retrospect, she supposes, it's kind of a bittersweet memory. The last family trip that they ever went on - until this. Claire's glad to see the snow once more though, even though it's in what she imagines to be nightmarish circumstances.

"I've never seen snow before," Sherry whispers to her. "Do you think we can build a snowman later like they do in the movies?"

"Of course," Claire says, all cheerfulness. "If the snow builds up, we can go outside and make one."

" _Just_ a snowman, Claire," Chris interrupts, his tone polite but warning. She squints at him. "No funny business," he says in a low voice, lest the staff leading them from ahead hear him.

"Thanks for trusting me, Chris," Claire responds dryly. Then, under her breath, she says, "God knows how you'll still be monarch otherwise." From the corner of her vision she sees Piers desperately struggling to keep a straight face. Claire's sure that he would have joined in on the fun, were it not for the company they had right now.

Sheva merely gives her a chiding look, but Claire knows she's not serious from the quirk of her brow. Sherry - god bless her soul - quietly giggles beside her. The utter lack of amusement and indignation in Chris's expression as he struggles to keep his composure is only the cherry on top. Honestly, Claire's just sorry that she doesn't have a camera right now.

Soon enough, they arrive in a grand rotunda, where the air is much warmer. The ceilings are decorated with intricate frescoes - all solemn and imposing depictions of who Claire assumes are the past emperors and empresses of the old Lisieux Empire. The spiraling marble carvings are elaborate, but not gaudy. _Lisiene palace design, unlike the bright and vibrant colors prevalent in Victorian palaces, prefers desaturated color schemes, gravitating towards a simple yet elegant motif_ , Claire remembers reading from a comprehensive pamphlet of Lisiene culture earlier. During their plane ride, when she was bored out of her mind. Now she knows what the brochure meant. The stern, subdued mood the architecture presents lacks the warmth and friendliness of her palace, her home. She didn't realize it was possible to become homesick _this_ fast.

The Victorian royal family is hardly the first to be there. A few other royal families are conversing in the area, most likely having been introduced to the Queen already. And there she is, in the center of the room. Claire can't quite see the monarch properly, because her back is turned and her figure is obscured by the castle personnel surrounding her.

It's at that moment when she and her party stop in the center of the hall for the announcement of arrivals, which is probably the most excruciating formality of all.

The Marshal of the Court clears his throat, booming, "We present the arrival of our guests from the Principality of Victoria." The Queen turns around to greet them, and Claire is instantly struck by her beauty and regal air.

"First, His Exalted Highness The Grand Duke of Victoria Christopher the Third: Sovereign Prince of Catalina, and Successor to the House of Redfield." Chris steps forward and extends his hand to the Queen, who shakes it firmly.

"Next: Her Exalted Highness The Princess Royal Claire of Victoria, Countess of Delucia." Stepping forward, Claire suppresses the urge to groan. She dips into a slight curtsy that would probably make her old etiquette instructor bawl with joy.

"And finally: Her Exalted Highness Princess Sherry of Victoria, Countess of Gadiwell." Next to her, Sherry performs an enthusiastic curtsy. Claire isn't sure if it's just her imagination, but she thinks the Queen's smile grows slightly wider when Sherry bows.

There's most definitely a hint of pride in the Marshal's voice as he utters, "The court of Lisieux hereby presents to the Principality of Victoria - Her Royal Majesty Queen Jillian, by the Grace of God, of the Kingdom of Lisieux: First of Her Name, Archduchess of Loire, Successor to House Valentine."

Queen Jillian is every bit the image of poise and sophistication rumors speak of. She _is_ youthful, but there's something quite striking about her. Something formidable, even, that makes her come across as being much older and experienced than she actually is. Styled into an elegant bob, her short brown hair frames her face in a way that makes her features appear sharper. Her keen blue eyes are offset by the serene smile on her lips, though Claire can't fathom how she manages, especially when her stilettos are _that_ high.

If this is what it means to be a queen, Claire's pretty damn certain she's never going to be able to become one.

"We welcome you, Principality of Victoria," the Queen says in a pleasant tone. "It is our hope that you will find the next five days agreeable."

"The pleasure is ours, Your Majesty," Chris responds easily. "I am most confident that we will enjoy our stay with such an accommodating host."

* * *

Not long after the introductions, Claire is escorted to a lavish suite located on the fifth floor of the royal guest wing that she's supposed to share with Sherry. She eyes the silk bedspreads, embellished Christmas accessories, and crystal chandeliers warily. Clearly, the staff has spared no expense for the guests' lodgings. Which is perfectly good and quite enough when you're planning to stay in your room for most of your holidays, and when your name is not Claire Redfield.

"I'm going to look around," she announces, after changing into something more comfortable. Sheva looks at her questioningly. "What? They said we were free to roam the guest wing-"

"And _only_ the guest wing."

Claire feigns a horrified gasp, falling onto her bed for peak theatrical effect. "Sheva, are you actually implying that I'll try to leave the palace grounds? If I do, it's your fault for giving me any ideas."

Sheva remains standing, looking down at her, unblinking, merely raising an eyebrow. Damn, her bodyguard can be a real hardass sometimes. _Well, there's the reason she gets along with Chris._

"I'm _joking_. You heard them: we're 'esteemed' guests. We get to take advantage of palace amenities. So I say, why not?" She gives Sheva a sweet smile. "You didn't _really_ expect me to stay in here all day, did you?"

"With all due respect, Your Highness, it's my responsibility to keep you out of trouble."

"Such as?"

"Climbing through the vents in an attempt to reach the kitchens." Claire grimaces.

"That was _once!_ And I was twelve. I probably won't even fit in the ducts anymore. _Not_ that I'll try," she says quickly, as Sheva's eyebrows shoot up even higher. "We have four hours until dinner. _Four_. I refuse to mope around in this room doing absolutely nothing. I'm just going to explore the area, nothing else. See what I can find, you know?"

"Right," Sheva says, with a tone of decisiveness. "but I'll be accompanying you." This, makes Claire wince.

"Oh, but the thing is, Sheva - I'd kind of like to... explore this place..." She taps her fingers, rapidly, against the bedpost. "...alone?"

Her bodyguard looks on, thoroughly unimpressed. Though if she's to be honest, Claire doesn't really blame Sheva. Not with her incredibly dubious track record. It's a wonder Sheva hasn't quit her job at this point. Claire's mind starts racing, attempting to figure out a possible point of compromise, as she always does.

"Please, Sheva? It's not like I can afford to embarrass myself in front of all these dignitaries anyway."

Sheva snorts. "I don't think that's ever stopped you, Your Highness."

"Look, I may not give a damn about propriety seventy- alright, _ninety_ -percent of the time." Claire throws her hands up in the air. "But I don't do stupid things. I only do _bold_ things. Though I don't think there's much room for either here, anyway." She sighs. "It's going to be a miserable, insufferable five days. Can't I just have this, at least? And besides..." Claire nods towards Sherry, who has passed out on the couch of the suite's lounge. The biting cold of Lisieux's winters and the four-hour jet ride from Catalina to Arklay must have worn her out.

"Sherry's going to be alone if the both of us go," Claire says slyly. "We can't risk that."

It seems she's struck a nerve, because Sheva visibly relents. "Very well, Your Highness," her bodyguard finally says. "But," She looks at Claire pointedly. "You have to stay within the guest wing, and come back an hour before dinner starts. And _please,_ for the love of God, try to steer clear of anything that'll have the staff members gossiping. Are we clear?"

Claire instantly leaps up from the bed. "Crystal," she chirps. "And you won't hear a thing." _Nothing that they'll be able to see, anyway._

* * *

The Winter Palace of Arklay is _massive_. Claire can hardly find a reason as to why a monarch would need a castle this big when they'll only have to stay a measly three months in the winter capital. The whole guest wing is nearly as big as the entirety of her palace back in Catalina, but much more convoluted in design. And this, Claire reasons, is exactly why she's lost right now.

She swears that the entrance to the famed library is supposed to be just around this corner of the second floor, just as the guest's map states. But she's at a dead-end right now, only facing a vast set of glass windows adorned with steel embellishments, and afar a view of the Palace's extensive, snow-covered garden. Unless they built a library outside, it seems pretty clear that she has no idea where the hell she is.

_Well, the unknown is what makes all of this fun, right?_ She's suddenly reminded of her six-year-old self, blindly traversing the Victorian royal palace, investigating every nook and cranny. _Taking it all in stride, going wherever my feet guide me._ Impulsively, she opens the small door on her right, and wanders into the maze-like corridors and spiraling staircases beyond.

The further she descends into this new area, the more Claire realizes that it's different compared to the halls and stairwells of the guest wing. The walls and ceilings of this area lack the pristine polish of the guest wing, and the windows are much smaller and plainer. She doesn't see any court staff in her vicinity, either - which is strange, because there were always at least two staff members patrolling each of the hallways before. But Claire is barely alarmed. Instead, her heart starts beating faster with pure excitement at the thought of discovering something new and unexpected.

At the end of the stairway is a rectangular chamber, where each wall is connected to a different hallway. Her intuition guides her to the corridor on the left - the one that has an endless row of the same doors and windows. There is an unnatural quiet besides the echoes of her own footsteps, but it's by no means unsettling. Still, she has yet to run into another staff member, which suggests this area is definitely not meant to be accessed.

Just then, a door creaks ahead, accompanied by the chatter of two voices. Claire instinctively hides behind a column. Thankfully, the footsteps head in the opposite direction, but she's close enough to be able to eavesdrop on the conversation.

"...is just _insane_ , how can she manage all of this?"

"She's capable, alright. And she's kind, too. Looks out for the little folk. She addressed me when we were in the entrance hall earlier. _Me!_ You think she'll come and visit the lot of us here sometime later?"

"Fat chance. The queen has better and more important things to do than look around where we sleep."

The voices grow more and more distant. And this is when the realization strikes her: she's no longer in the guest wing. She's in the _staff's quarters_. No wonder there isn't a soul to be seen.

In her defense, she really didn't mean to wander away from the guest wing. But Claire supposes she's come too far to give up on this little escapade of hers. She continues to make her way across the corridor until she's faced with another door, one that's different from the repeating ones from earlier. This time though, when she opens it, she's outside.

Sheva's warnings of _stay within the guest wing_ are far behind now, as she crosses the snowy backyard that borders the staff's quarters. There's a tall, sharp fence covered with twisting vines adjacent to the yard, but she notices something under the vines, an outline hidden within the layer of snow. She lifts the vines up and dusts the snow off, a sense of thrill and anticipation overcoming her.

It's a small metallic gateway. For the staff, she's assuming. An exit that leads _outside the castle._

_Damn, did Sheva predict the future or what?_

She rattles the gate. It's locked, but there's a latch that allows her to unlock it from the inside. that Her heart hammers against her rib cage to the point where it feels like it's about to burst. Now she really has to take back everything she's said about herself to Sheva, because this is absolutely the _stupidest_ thing she's ever thought about doing. Chris would be absolutely livid, if he found out. (Then again, the mental image of Chris having an aneurysm alone is pretty much worth it.)

But then she's tempted by what may lay beyond these walls. An opportunity for an adventure like no other. A glimpse of what it's like to actually be a traveler. A part of day-to-day life in Arklay she'll never be able to experience otherwise. She looks at the platinum watch on her left wrist. Three hours until dinner. _Surely_ , she can take a peek for just an hour or so?

It couldn't hurt. But if she gets caught, she'll never live it down. This is so, so _stupid_.

Naturally, she unfastens the lock and pushes the gate.

* * *

She's outside. She's _outside!_

Claire can hardly remember the last time she's stepped outside the realms of any royal grounds. She can't believe she's walking in the streets of an unfamiliar country, in the dead of winter. The exhilaration bubbling in the pit of her stomach overpowers any sense of dread or uncertainty. It's absolutely insane, and it's absolutely _phenomenal_.

She surveys the bustling streets of the city of Arklay, the twinkling lights of its Christmas decorations almost blinding. Nobody notices her as she takes a stroll down the sidewalk. No one knows that she's the Princess Royal of Victoria, and this is freeing in a way she could have never imagined.

She takes in the entirety of her surroundings: the colorful street vendors, the people chattering under the awnings of their shops, and the honking of cars as they move along the pavements. There's a sense of infectious enthusiasm that pervades the city, and her breath is taken away every time her eyes land on something new. Right now, Claire feels like an actual tourist.

In Catalina, most of the buildings are either imposing Neoclassical establishments, or sleek, modern skyscrapers. Arklay, however, looks as if it has jumped right out of a fairytale, with its picturesque townhouses and quaint shops. The scenery reminds her of Delucia's boroughs, but with a larger population and a much more freezing climate. She wonders what Delucia looks like during Christmas - would it look just like Arklay, only without the snow? Maybe its town square would be full of vendors and ongoing flea markets.

That reminds her - Arklay has its own town square. The brochure from her plane ride earlier mentioned something about a large-scale holiday parade that happens every year during the Christmas holidays, in its town square. Claire's only ever been part of a parade. She's never watched one, and the thought excites her. She double-checks her watch - dinner is still two and half hours away, so she has enough time. She peers at the map she grabbed from one of the information booths earlier: if she's where she thinks she is, Arklay Square isn't too far off.

At least, that's what she keeps on telling herself, until she realizes she's been going in circles for the last ten minutes.

Arklay is a very _big_ city, Claire convinces herself. She's not bad with directions, it's just the city is very maze-like. But even Claire knows when she's beat, and she's starting to think that, perhaps, she does need help after all.

She approaches a lanky, unkempt teenager skulking around a raccoon-themed merchandise vendor. "Excuse me," The teen looks up. "Do you know where the city square is?"

He narrows his eyes. His eyes wander to the map in her left hand, then her. "Yeah," he says. "I could show you."

Claire blinks, surprised. That's... actually more than she was hoping for. She was expecting to be pointed towards a general direction, but this is even better. "Oh. Thank you." _The people here are really nice_ , she notes appreciatively. "I've been running around in circles for the last few minutes. God knows where the hell I'd be if it weren't for your help, so thanks for that."

The boy nods in a noncommittal way. _Alright, so he's not much for small-talk._ That's fine too. She navigates through the swarm of people on the sidewalk, careful not to lose him, even though it's difficult when she's distracted by the diverse landmarks surrounding them. A police department that seems more like a museum than a government building. A train station...that she's seen before?

"Hey, are we going in the right direction?" she asks the boy. "The place I want to go to is Arklay Square."

"This is the fastest way," he answers flatly, as they enter an alleyway behind the station.

"No, I'm pretty sure I've been here before." Claire stops in her tracks to examine her map. The boy turns around and walks towards her. "To get to the city square we'd have to pass the cinema-"

"-which is in the complete opposite direction, and half a mile away," an unfamiliar voice says airily. There's a sudden flash of movement in the corner of her vision, and she instantly looks up, wide alert - only to see a complete stranger, face half concealed by his hat, grabbing her guide's arm and restraining him. Just when the boy was about to reach for her left wrist. Now she sees the full picture.

_My watch. Of_ course _._

"You _son of a_ -" She's been _duped_. Claire's so furious that she can't even find the words. She marches towards the boy, but the unknown man stops her, shooting her a look that says, _I'll handle this._

"Thought it was your lucky day, huh, Louis?" the tall stranger addresses the teen, whose surprise soon morphs into a disgruntled scowl. "You might have thought nobody would notice, but there _are_ people watching you. I won't call the police as long as you promise not to pull the same stunt again."

The boy called Louis mumbles something under his breath. "That's more like it," the man says, nonchalant. He releases his tight grip on the boy's wrist, and claps him on the back. "Now go back to the orphanage, you little rat." Before Claire can even protest, the little weasel darts away, disappearing from sight.

The outrage is still fresh when she turns to the stranger. "I- You just let him _go_?"

"You're welcome," he says dryly.

Honestly, Claire's not sure who she's madder at - the teenager, the man, or herself. "I trusted him," she mutters resentfully. "The little _shit_ -"

"Won't be pickpocketing anyone if he's smart enough. Call the police, and he'll go in as a petty thief, but come out as a spiteful delinquent," The man sighs. "And I know him. He's from the city orphanage. They try so hard for their kids, but staying in there for so long on your own just..." A sad smile is on his face as he takes his hat off and runs a hand through his blonde locks. "He's a good kid, just...misguided. At least now he knows there are eyes and ears everywhere, so he'll know better than to attempt something like that in broad daylight next time."

Claire recalls the boy's disheveled appearance. It makes sense, and now she feels more pity than exasperation. Reality isn't always as black and white as politics makes it out to be. "You're right," she finally says. "I hadn't thought of that."

The man shrugs. "Rule number one of traveling in Arklay." he lowers his voice and leans towards her in a manner that's almost conspiratorial. "Never trust a random stranger."

"So...you?"

He breaks into a grin. "You're learning! Speaking of which, I'll need you to hand me your credit card right now."

Claire rolls her eyes, but it's hard to resist the smile that's tugging at her lips. "You'll have to pry it off my cold, dead hands if I don't concuss you first."

"I'll keep that in mind the next time we run into each other," he remarks, thoroughly amused. But his expression soon turns solemn. "Jokes aside, I'm serious. Not everyone in this city is willing to be a Good Samaritan like I am. And as for the petty criminals...their prime targets are tourists like you, so it'll do you good to watch your back."

Claire exhales deeply, cringing at the thought of her naivety. "Noted. And... thanks," she mutters. This was definitely not what she planned on when she left the palace grounds. And to think that she was so sure that everything would be swell. Oh well, she's learned _something_ , at the very least. The blonde stranger probably has picked up on her embarrassment, because his lips quirk slightly upwards.

_Take it all in stride_ , she thinks. "Could you point me to Arklay Square?"

"Not a problem. What business do you have there, if you don't mind me asking?"

"Heard there was a Christmas parade there. I wanted to check it out."

"Oh, _that_." The way he says it makes her crease her brow in question. "The parade actually doesn't start until the day before Christmas." Claire groans. Her _go with the flow_ philosophy isn't doing much to help her today, is it?

"I could still take you there. Or, if you're inclined," The man cocks his head, a winning smile on his face. "I could take you somewhere much more interesting. Somewhere more...local."

The offer is incredibly enticing. Claire glances at her watch once more. Dinner is in two hours. "Sure, if it's not too far, and if you're not doing all of this just to grab my credit card."

"It's right around the corner, actually. A place that only locals would know. And look, uh -" He looks at her expectantly. For a moment, she thinks about giving him a completely fake name - but this is _Arklay_. In _Lisieux_. Nobody knows her.

"It's Claire," she says. "Claire Redf... uh, Redstone." _You moron_ , she berates herself. Just Claire is fine, but once she says _Redfield_ he'll connect the dots one way or another.

He raises an eyebrow. She's not entirely sure if he's caught that tiny slip-up. He continues regardless. "Right. Claire, if I _actually_ wanted to take your credit card, I wouldn't have taken my time to warn you, and I sure as hell wouldn't be standing around talking about it to you right now."

Claire grins. "Whatever you say, stranger."

He laughs as he turns around to lead her, his eyes twinkling with mirth. Her heart skips a beat. "It's Leon. Leon Kennedy."

"Whatever you say, _Leon_."

* * *

Where Leon takes her to is _Marvin's_ \- a diner hidden in an alleyway near the police department. A rustic diner where the lighting is dim and mysterious, the pinkish hue of it illuminating the glossy metallic tables and round chairs. Framed posters from movies and vintage photographs decorate the walls, and several Christmas decorations and service medals are displayed on a long panel hanging above them. It's reminiscent of a whimsical restaurant in a 50's movie, especially with the jukebox that's playing holiday jingles in the corner. Small crowds of people have congregated within various corners of the establishment, giving it a light buzz. Despite its complete unfamiliarity, the mellow atmosphere of the restaurant is strangely comforting, and almost surreal.

" _Leon?_ " a voice exclaims. They turn to see a middle-aged man in an apron behind the counter, slack-jawed, in the middle of pouring a cup of coffee. "Christ, boy, why didn't you tell me you were back?"

"Good to see you, Marvin," Leon enthuses, reaching over to give the man a quick hug. "Just came back yesterday. I passed out right after the plane ride, and well, I came here as quick as I could as soon as I woke up." He turns to her. "Marvin, this is Claire Redstone. She's a tourist from Victoria. Claire, Marvin Branagh. Owner of my most favorite dinner joint in the world, and its namesake." She exchanges a firm handshake with Marvin.

"Any friend of Leon's is a friend of mine," Marvin smiles. "Get yourselves seated. You need the dinner menu, or just something to drink?"

"Just something to drink for me," Claire quickly says. "Regular coffee will do." She doubts she can come up with an excuse for a full stomach.

"The same for me," Leon says. "Thanks, Marvin."

They sit down at a table in the corner bordering a window. "So." Her companion rests his chin on his hand, his gaze knowing. "What do you think?"

"I've never been anywhere like this," Claire says truthfully. "It's amazing."

His grin widens. "Glad to hear it. This place is pretty old, but it's still the best in town."

"You must be a hell of a regular if he knows your name."

"Oh, Marvin and I go way back. He's known me since I was a kid, back when he was still a police officer." _That explains the service medals,_ she thinks. "I grew up in this town wanting to be just like him. A police officer with a badge and a uniform, helping people in need. Thought that was the coolest thing in the world back then."

Claire tries to picture Leon in a police officer uniform. It makes sense, sort of. "What changed?"

"Well, for starters," His expression is somewhat bittersweet. "I had to move away to Loire. Leave behind everything I ever knew for something I barely knew anything about. You know how it is. Circumstances change, and there's not much you can do except work with what's given to you. That's what I did."

The statement rings true for Claire. Her parents' death - there was nothing she could do about the situation. All she could do was move forward. Suddenly, the chatter around them, the music - it all fades into the background. "I know what you mean," she says, her voice quiet.

Leon's expression softens. "I don't regret it, though. It's all different now, but I can still help people in my own way," He leans over the table and gives her a cheeky smile. "I mean, I helped you too, right?"

Claire chortles, with a teasing "Alright, Kennedy, now you're just milking it." Leon, in turn, affects a look of exaggerated offense.

"Is this the thanks I get for being a good, upstanding citizen? Snubs questioning my intentions?" He shakes his head, but his blue eyes glitter with amusement. "But enough about me. Now it's time for me to ask _you_ all the questions. What brings you to Arklay on the holidays, alone?"

"Oh, uh, I'm not alone. I came with my family. We just wanted to, er....celebrate the holidays differently this time around. Get out of the country, and all. And I'm out here on my own because well, I wanted to explore this place by myself." Technically, it's not even a lie.

"Sounds nice. Any particular reason why you chose Arklay? The snowfall gets particularly intense around here at times."

"It was my brother's choice," The annoyance seeps into her voice. "He sprung it on me yesterday. _Randomly_. Imagine how I felt packing my bags."

A chuckle escapes him. "Your brother sounds like a fun person."

_That_ , is probably one of the most outrageous claims she's heard this year. "Pretty sure you won't be saying that when you meet him. He's a military man, through and through."

"Well, I think we'll get along fine," Leon assures her, all confidence. _That's what they all say at first_ , Claire says to herself. "How did your parents react to all of that?"

Her mouth feels dry. _Damn, this is going to be awkward_. "They're uh, not around anymore." Leon's eyes widen. Claire expects a half-hearted apology and a quick change of topic - at this point, she's _sure_ of it happening, because that's what always does.

But Leon's gaze merely softens, and in hushed tones he says, "I'm sorry if I brought up any unpleasant memories." Claire is taken aback by the weight of his words. By the sincerity of his gaze, as he holds hers. And the false pleasantries on the tip of her tongue fade away, leaving her more unsure than ever.

"No, not at all," she whispers. The words come out before she can even stop herself. "It's been a while. Almost seven years," When was the last time she was so frank with a stranger? "It doesn't hurt anymore. But..." She inhales a deep breath. "I still miss them. All the time."

"I know how that feels," Leon says, his voice still little more than a murmur. "My mother passed on when I was eight, but she's always in my thoughts." He pauses. "Always."

It's still for a moment as she offers him a small smile, and he gently returns hers. The silence and this moment of fragility isn't as suffocating as she would have imagined it to be. Because he _knows_.

"I still have my brother and my cousin with me, though," Claire says lightly. "They're who I came here with."

"You must be really close to your cousin, if they come on family trips with you."

"Of course. Sweetest little girl you'll ever meet." Thinking of Sherry makes her heart swell with fondness. "She lost her parents to a lab accident when she was nine. None of her relatives were willing to take care of her. I couldn't let that happen, so...I asked my brother if we could look after her for a while. And then we took her in, officially. Still think that's the best decision I've ever made." For a split second, she's almost lost in the moment when she and Chris told Sherry they were going to become her family. The shrieks of astonishment, the tears of happiness. The feeling of _home_.

Leon is particularly quiet throughout her story. His face is unreadable when he finally says, "It wouldn't have been easy, taking care of a kid that's not even your own. Most people would have sent her to an orphanage." Perhaps she's just imagining the slight bitter edge in his voice when he speaks. Claire doesn't press, because it's not her place. 

"It was never an option," she says, adamant. "Not when I knew she could have a home with us."

Something shifts in Leon's expression when she speaks. His lips curve into a smile that's slightly wistful, but content. "Then you're an even greater woman than I gave you credit for, Claire."

He stares at her intently, his gaze full of meaning. And all of a sudden, Claire doesn't know what to say anymore.

"Oh," she says, like the eloquent person she is. The corner of his lips quirk upwards as her cheeks flush. It's then when Marvin comes by their table with their mugs of coffee. Whether his arrival is a blessing or a curse, Claire isn't sure.

"A coffee for the lady - and her friend," Leon raises an eyebrow disbelievingly. "Don't look at me like that, Kennedy, it's what you get for showing up after a whole year of radio silence."

Leon grimaces. "Come on, Marvin. I was at school. You know, college? The thing that keeps us young people busy all year?"

"Looks like they didn't keep you busy enough to wear out that smart mouth of yours," Marvin shoots back. "If it weren't for the new-" He catches himself. "-if it weren't for the people assuring me you were still alive and kicking, I might as well have thought you were dead."

"Alright, alright," Her companion raises his hands in surrender. "I'm sorry for not sending you a letter, or giving you a call," he says sincerely. "Are we good?"

"As long as you keep in touch," Marvin places his hand on Leon's shoulder. "I know you like to tell yourself otherwise, but there _are_ still people who care about you in Raccoon City, Leon. Myself included. Remember that."

Leon laughs. He looks down, his demeanor much more relaxed. "Got it, sir." Marvin nods, satisfied, and leaves them be.

"Raccoon City?" Claire questions. "What's that?"

"Oh, the locals like to call Arklay Raccoon City. In fact, I think they - well, _we_ , refer to it as Raccoon City more often than not." He chuckles. "You can only imagine why."

"Lots and _lots_ of raccoons?"

"Something like that, yeah," Leon's eyes suddenly light up, and he leans forward. "Speaking of which, I have a proposition for you."

Claire lifts an eyebrow.

"Oh, Jesus Christ, no, I don't mean it _that_ way." He lets out a strangled kind of laugh. The tips of his ears are a pale crimson. Truthfully, Claire thinks it's kind of adorable. "I meant it as in, do you have time tomorrow afternoon, around four o'clock? If you do, I'd like to show you around the city."

_Holy shit._ A local, offering to guide her throughout the city? "You're really willing to do that? With no strings attached?"

Her companion groans. "Claire, while I appreciate that you've taken my advice earlier to heart, I'd like to assure you that I really, _truly_ do not have any ulterior motives in offering to be your tour guide other than the goodness of my heart - _and_ the pleasure of your company."

"Just checking, Romeo," Claire says, amused. Leon's expression is somewhere between indignantly outraged and absolutely entertained. "Where will we be headed, though?"

He gives her a mischievous wink. "That part's a secret. Not knowing is what's part of the fun, right?"

Claire finds herself grinning so wide that her cheeks hurt. "Exactly."

* * *

Whoever came up with the idea of brunch tea deserves capital punishment, Claire thinks as she smiles and nods courteously for the hundredth time in the last hour and a half. Having teatime with Queen Jillian and multiple other royals was the last thing she expected to be doing this morning, because Chris told her, as she recalls, that all she would need to do is _show up to the actual ball._ Either Chris is showing early signs of dementia, or he's asking, not so subtly, to be punched in the face. With the way he's actively avoiding her penetrating gaze across the room, though, it's clear that it's the latter. Her irritation gets the better of her once again, and she politely excuses herself from her currently ongoing conversation, opting to refill her cup at the refreshments table instead.

As she pours a teapot full of god-knows-what, her mind wanders back to yesterday - and Leon. It's still quite surreal. Claire barely remembers how she got back. A few terrible excuses about a horribly stranger-phobic guesthouse owner, and one slightly confused Leon later, she managed to avoid getting found out. Escaping Sheva's shrewd gaze and even sharper questions was another trial of its own. Difficult, but not undoable. She stifles a weary sigh. At least, she has her date with Leon to look forward to later in the afternoon.

She falters a bit at that line of thought. _Date? Where the hell did that come from?_ She's _definitely_ been reading into the teasing smiles and the friendly looks he's given her a little too much. And even though the duality of his roguish, somewhat flippant demeanor and his sympathetic soul is charming - he's still a random, mysterious stranger she's met only yesterday. Even if he _is_ actually pretty attractive, with his sharp jawline, and the way his parted fringe falls across his piercing blue eyes-

_Shut up, Claire_ , she tells herself irritably, as she sets down the teapot a little too forcefully on the table. She forces her mind to work on something more productive, like deciding whether she wants to temporarily concuss Chris or do something very embarrassing to mortify him.

"I hope all is well, Princess Royal Claire."

Claire almost jumps at the sound of Queen Jillian's voice next to her. "Queen Jillian, Your Majesty." She curtsies slightly, but curses herself inwardly for accidentally having made a scene. "All is well."

The Queen's expression is still cordial. "The formalities are no longer necessary, Your Highness. We're all on equal footing here."

Claire doesn't know how the Queen manages to keep herself so collected all the time - or at least, from what Claire's seen of her thus far. Is it practice, or was she born composed? Regardless, she nods her head. "I'll keep that in mind." For the lack of a better way to continue the conversation, she sips her cup of tea absentmindedly. She's pleasantly surprised by its sweet, herbal aroma. "Excuse me, can I ask you what the name of this tea is?"

"Ah, the tea you're drinking is the Arklay Primrose, made from the leaves and flowers of the primroses we grow exclusively in the castle garden. Its flowers bloom only in the winter, which is why it's so popular during the holiday season."

"It's incredibly flavorful, with its sweet and spicy notes," Claire comments. "It might even be the best tea I've sampled thus far." And now her attempts at making small talk has made her into a _tea critic,_ in front of the _Queen of Lisieux,_ the top tea exporter in the world.

"I'm glad you think so, Your Highness. I also hope your experience with the Winter Palace thus far has been pleasurable," the Queen continues, unaffected. "The climate in Arklay is significantly different from Catalina's, isn't it? Our winters can be bitter; I hope it hasn't affected your enjoyment of the holidays."

"It's quite different, but I wouldn't say it's necessarily a bad thing," Claire responds lightly. "The last time I saw snow before I came here was eight years ago. Being in Arklay, I think, has given me a newfound appreciation for winter and what it really _can_ be at its fullest potential."

"I'll have to say I agree with you wholeheartedly," For some reason, Claire feels like the Queen's comments really _are_ genuine, and not just polite remarks. "And how is your cousin doing? Princess Sherry?"

Claire feels a grin tug at the corners of her lips. "She's doing wonderfully, actually. She's enjoying everything the palace has to offer. The view, the amenities...Ever so often she mentions how much she enjoys the food, especially the desserts-" She realizes she's gone off a tangent, and clears her throat. "Excuse me. I ramble sometimes."

"No, it's perfectly alright." The Queen is definitely smiling. "I think it's very sweet that you dote on your cousin. I would too."

"She's practically a sister to me, so I guess it's only natural. And she's so earnest and endearing that it's impossible not to."

Queen Jillian nods. "I envy you in some ways, actually. If I were to dote on _my_ brother, he'd simply be disgusted."

"Oh yes, Prince-" Shit, what was his _name_? Claire launches into an internal panic as she desperately tries to remember what Chris told her it was the day before. She fails. Utterly. So instead she quickly says, "- _the_ Prince of Lisieux. How old is he?"

"He's younger than me by three years," the Queen responds. Thankfully, she doesn't notice Claire's slip, much to the latter's relief. Well, it's either that or Queen Jillian is gracefully feigning ignorance of her fumbling misstep, which Claire tries not to think about. "He always gets so exasperated when I treat him like the little brother he is. His tendency to be snarky doesn't help, either. Makes it difficult for me to humor him, if we're to be honest."

Claire is reminded of a younger Chris in his teens, always so disgruntled with the way their mother and aunt had fussed over him. "If it's any consolation, Queen Jillian, my brother was once the same. And even _he_ gave up at some point. Yours will most likely grow used to it over time as well." Airing Chris's dirty laundry to the monarch of a neighboring country, Claire discovers, brings her much more pleasure than she thought. Maybe she should make a habit out of it.

The Queen laughs - _actually_ laughs. "And so he shall. Princess Claire, you can't imagine how much I'd like for you to meet my brother. I think it'll be most interesting to see you both interact."

"Will His Highness be attending the ball this Friday?" Claire asks, mildly curious.

"He will, in fact. He returned several days ago, after recently graduating from university. I'll be sure to introduce you two then."

"I'll be looking forward to it, Your Majesty," she says politely. Queen Jillian offers Claire the most genuine smile she's ever seen on her - one that Claire can't help but return.

* * *

"Claire?"

_Damn._ Claire freezes in the middle of opening the door to her suite. She turns to face Sherry, who she was so _sure_ was fast asleep on the couch. "Hey, Sherry. What's up?"

"Where are you going?"

"The library." The lies come so easily now, despite her guilt at lying to Sherry, of all people. "I'm going to read some, uh, history books." _Real smooth._

Sherry scrambles to her feet, putting on her shoes with all the enthusiasm of an eleven-year-old. "I want to go with you!"

The gears start turning in Claire's head as she struggles to find some plausible way to deny her cousin's request without wounding her feelings. "The library's really far away though, Sherry. Your feet will hurt trying to get there."

"It's fine," Sherry insists. "I've been walking around the fifth floor a lot. And the fourth floor. I can go to the library." Claire, of course, forgets how stubborn her little cousin can be sometimes.

"The library's _really_ cold though," Claire emphasizes. "And the librarian there is super scary! Are you sure?" Sherry nods. Well, that didn't work either. Claire hesitates, debating the morals of lying to her cousin.

Eventually, Claire decides to salvage what remains of her conscience. "Sherry, whatever I tell you now," Claire says, her tone lower and much more serious, "has to be a secret between you and me. That means _only_ you and me. Not Chris, not Sheva." Sherry nods resolutely in response. "Promise?"

"Promise," her cousin says, unhesitating.

Claire takes a deep breath, and says in a furtive whisper: "I went outside yesterday. Outside the palace."

"I know."

"Yes, and I met a - wait, _what?_ " Claire splutters. Sherry blinks back at her, unperturbed. "What do you mean, you know? _How?_ "

"Your boots were wet when you came back yesterday," Sherry points out. And there it is - yet another quality of her cousin that Claire tends to forget. Sherry is observant. _Very_ observant.

Now, to confirm if her worst fears have come true: "You haven't told Sheva or Chris about this, have you?" Sherry shakes her head no. _Thank God._

"Well, Sherry, I'm actually not going to the library today. I met a guy outside yesterday named Leon. And he promised to show me around Arklay today, so I have to go," she says gently. "Could you wait in the library until I come back? It won't take long."

"Can't I go with you?" Sherry asks, wearing a particularly sad frown. It's absolutely heart-wrenching. Claire resists the urge to scream at herself.

"It's really dangerous out there, Sherry," she says weakly. "I almost got my watch stolen yesterday. There are some very bad people out there."

"I don't have a watch, though," Sherry says in earnest. She looks at Claire pleadingly. "Please? I'll stay next to you the whole entire time. And when bad people come, I'll- I'll-" She meets Claire's gaze, more determined than ever. "I'll kick them really hard in the legs!" She looks so proud of herself that Claire can't help but burst into laughter. 

"Alright, Sherry," she says, albeit somewhat reluctantly. "You win. But stay close to me, okay? There's a whole entire swarm of people out there, and I'd freak out if you were to get lost in it."

* * *

For such a small establishment, the Arklay City Orphanage is completely teeming with people when Claire and Sherry arrive. The entire courtyard has been fashioned into a makeshift soup kitchen-slash-flea market, its queues made up of people of all ages. She doesn't think the soup kitchens she officially volunteered at in Victoria even had this many people.

Leon told her he'd meet her here, but at this point, Claire severely doubts she'll be able to find him on her own.

"Stay close to me, Sherry," she tells her cousin, who's enraptured by everything that's unfolding around her. Claire grips her tiny hand tightly, just in case. She approaches someone at random - a bulky man, presumably in his 40s or 50s, who's carrying pots of soup. "Excuse me, could you tell me where Leon Kennedy is?"

The man sets the pots he's carrying down on a table nearby, his face all scrunched up as he regards them. "Leon Kennedy? What for?"

"We're friends of his," she explains politely. "He told us to meet him here?"

The stranger scrutinizes them a bit more, and motions them to follow him inside the orphanage building. The building is surprisingly polished and well-kept, despite the persistent myths about neglected orphanages. Claire observes the numerous tables where children are participating in all sorts of Christmas activities: jewelry making, wreath decorating, nougat baking, and more. They go up the staircase, passing by a large banner that hangs across the expanse of the second floor wall. It reads, _The Royal Children's Welfare Trust - Arklay's Annual Christmas Food Drive_.

"Kennedy!" the man barks as he opens the door right ahead of them. "You've got company."

Claire pops her head through the door, and sees Leon amidst a sea of cardboard boxes. He grins when he locks eyes with her. "Hey. Thanks, Kendo."

The man named Kendo nods. "Make sure you finalize the inventory check before you leave," he says, and promptly disappears.

"Claire," Leon greets her. "Sorry about the holdup, things got delayed and-" He notices Sherry, who's blinking at him with curiosity. "Who's this?"

"This is my cousin, Sherry. Sherry, this is Leon." Something flickers in Leon's eyes, but it disappears far too quickly for her to catch it. "Sorry for the late notice, but Sherry wanted to explore the city too, I hope that's okay...?" she trails off, uncertain.

Swiftly, Leon crouches down to meet Sherry's eye level. "Hey, Sherry," he says easily, extending a hand towards her. A warm smile is on his face. "It's great to meet you. I'm Leon." Sherry takes his hand and shakes it, giggling when she discovers he's hidden a wrapped, freshly made bonbon in his palm. "For you," he says, winking.

"Thank you," her cousin says, elated. The way Leon meets Claire's gaze and tilts his head slightly is almost electrifying. His lighthearted smirk says it all.

"As I was saying," Leon continues, "things got delayed, and now i'm doing an inventory check an hour too late. This is the last part of my job, though. You two can look around until I'm finished. I promise it won't take long."

"Is there any way we can help?" Claire offers.

Leon whistles. "Well, now that you've asked, maybe you can." He turns to Sherry and asks, "Sherry, could you do me a big favor? I need you to bring this-" he tears a page from his notepad and hands it to her. "- to Marvin Branagh. He's outside, near the soup area, wearing a bright yellow apron with a huge sunflower on it. You can't miss him." This for some reason greatly amuses Sherry, who titters. "After that you can go to the first floor and make jewelry and decorations with all the other kids."

She nods, taking off before Claire can even say _be careful_. "As for us," Leon says, "we can count the rest of the food stock on the second floor."

"How many boxes are there?"

"Oh, I don't know," Leon stands up, his voice as casual as always. "Thirty? Thirty-five? I might have missed some, though."

Claire groans. "Volunteering is never easy, huh?"

"There's never a reward without a challenge. Don't worry, it'll be over before you know it."

Turns out that Leon is right, because checking the produce stock is hardly as demanding as it sounds. No more than ten minutes have passed when she and Leon finish examining the last box in one of the children's rooms. The food drive will have more than enough ingredients to last the next two hours, according to him. Over time more and more people check in on Leon to ask him for updates and directions - and it soon becomes obvious that Leon is no mere volunteer.

"Did you have a hand in organizing this?" Claire asks.

Leon's smile is vague and enigmatic. He says, "If by 'hand' you mean 'government worker and charity partner', yes."

"That's amazing," Claire says honestly. "I'll be frank, this isn't what I expected to do when I came here. But I'm _glad_ we're able to help out the Raccoon City community in some way. Well, it's mostly been you and not really me, but...it's nice to see the people caring so much about the children, and the less fortunate."

Leon sits down on the floor. "There's nothing more miserable than suffering and being ignored during what's supposed to be the happiest holiday of the entire year," he says, looking pensive. "I don't want these people - these _kids_ to think that the world doesn't care about them. I'm trying, in the only way I know how. But hey, maybe that doesn't mean as much I thought it would." His laugh is somewhat bitter. "It's only Christmas, anyway."

Claire notices the same biting edge in his voice again. It's rawer. More personal. The dots connect.

"Did you grow up here?" she asks, cautiously.

"After my mother died. Before I found my new family. For three years, it was home." There's a lull in the conversation. "A lonely one," he adds, his voice much quieter.

In that moment, Leon seems lost in thought and more unsure than she's ever seen him. Maybe it's the memories. Or maybe he's faced with uncertainty about what he's doing in this place. Polite small talk dictates that she's to offer him sympathetic regrets that would probably do little to console him, especially for something she hasn't experienced or fully understood. And so she stops herself, instead searching for words that actually _mean_ something.

"What you're doing here is changing their lives," she speaks softly, placing a hand on his shoulders. "There's something my brother used to tell me all the time: _actions are remembered longer than words_. You might feel like it's not enough, but because of people like you, the children now know they're still loved and protected. They'll carry on with the knowledge that they're not alone. And as your..." She pauses, choosing the right words to say. "...friend, I couldn't be prouder to know you - and help you, in what little way I can. I want you to remember that."

The contemplative look on his face breaks into a much more melancholy smile. "Thank you, Claire," he says, placing his own hand on top of hers, its warmth suffusing her. "It means a lot."

"Anytime."

"I'm serious, though." He stands up, stepping towards her. His grip on her palm still firm, he speaks in a low voice: "Of all the people I could've run into yesterday, I'm glad it was you." The quiet intensity of his remark makes her cheeks burn, almost as red as her hair.

"I guess we both got lucky, then," she breathes. For a moment Claire forgets where they are - in just that moment, it's only them, in the room, far away from the bustle of the food drive outside. He chortles in response, his gaze fond and endearing.

"Claire?"

Sherry's at the door, peering at them with her inquisitive eyes. Instantly, Claire and Leon both jump apart, and Claire is struck with the mortification one might feel when caught in a situation they weren't supposed to be seen in. If the pink tint of Leon's cheeks is any indication, he shares her thoughts. "Hey, Sherry. What's up?"

Sherry, god bless her soul, doesn't question the two of them. She proudly shows them a necklace with a rectangular trinket made of resin, filled with dried flowers, white glitter, and a small plastic snowman. "Look what I made!"

"It's so pretty, Sherry!" And Claire means it. "Did you make it all on your own?"

Her cousin nods proudly. "Mhm! And I made mine pretty fast, so I got to help other people too," She scrunches up her face a bit. "There was this one person who didn't want my help though. His name was Jake. I wanted to help Jake, but he wouldn't let me." Her cousin looks disappointed. Claire stifles a laugh.

Leon grins at her. "Well, I'm pretty sure he would have wanted your help if he saw how pretty your necklace is," He peers at the transparent charm. "In fact, I think I might ask you to make a necklace for me next time. Can you?"

Sherry bursts into peals of laughter as she nods. Leon ruffles her hair good-naturedly. "Well, I'll go and update Kendo on the inventory," he continues. "Then we can go visit..." He pauses for dramatic effect "...the Arklay Christmas market." Next to her, her cousin squeals, and Leon winks in response.

When Leon exits the room, Sherry turns to her and excitedly whispers: "I like him." Claire hums, a glimmer of happiness bubbling within her.

"I like him too," she whispers back.

**Author's Note:**

> I KNOW IT ENDED ABRUPTLY I SWEAR I'LL EXPAND ON IT LATER OKAY


End file.
